


Trust Fall

by thestarsapart



Category: Sea Patrol (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 18:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21183887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsapart/pseuds/thestarsapart
Summary: After a surprise encounter with drug smugglers, Buffer's and Swain's lives hang in the balance and Kate's fate is unknown.Set in Season 2. Mild Mike/Kate.





	1. Chapter 1

Through his binoculars, Mike could just make out his XO at the bow of the small drug-smuggling vessel _Southern Breeze_ . His second-in-command was standing precariously next to a gap in the boat’s starboard railing, her back to the sea, nothing between her and the water except her own balance. A few feet away from her stood one of the drug runners, posed dramatically to ensure that everyone on board the _Hammersley_ could see the gun he was pointing at Kate’s head, even at this distance.

The rest of the _Hammersley_ crew were clustered around the EOD, watching the standoff in high definition. Mike stood at the helm, the only person on the bridge actually facing the _Southern Breeze_ to port, binoculars gripped tightly in one hand while the other clutched the radio mic.

“You don’t want to do this,” he told Harrison, the captain of the _Southern Breeze_. “Killing my officer will accomplish nothing except bringing the entire Australian Navy down on your head.” He could see Harrison pacing the forward deck of the small boat behind his man with the gun. A third man with an automatic weapon stood farther astern, guarding Swain and Buffer, who knelt on the deck with their hands bound behind them.

Kate’s hands were tied in front of her. Mike could see her gesturing clumsily as she spoke to the man holding the gun on her, but of course Mike couldn’t hear her at this distance. 

“You think you can threaten me?!” Harrison shouted over the radio. “Where’s your big, scary Navy now, _Captain_? I’ve got your people, I’ve got all the power here.” He waved his arms as he stomped back and forth across his deck. But Mike was focussed on Kate. As Harrison became more agitated, she seemed to give up reasoning with him or his men. Instead, she watched the barrel of the gun and edged slowly backwards until she had nowhere left to go.

“You’re not taking me seriously, Flynn,” Harrison was saying. “You think I’m bluffing. Well, you’re wrong.”

Mike didn’t hear Harrison give the order to his man, because the radio had clicked off. But he saw his XO arc backwards and plummet into the water. And a split second later, delayed by the distance, he heard the gunshot.

* * *

Behind Mike, the crew were making startled and anguished noises. Their distress extended to their shipmates on the _Southern Breeze_. He could see Swain slumping in defeat against a bulkhead as Buffer thrashed and struggled against his guard. Mike trained his binoculars on the spot in the water where Kate had gone under, but all he could see were the events of the last few seconds replaying in his mind: the muzzle flash, the jerk of her head, the fall, over and over and over.

“Now, _stop following us_,” the radio said. “Or the next member of your crew that I kill won’t enjoy such a quick death.”

The _Southern Breeze_ ’s engines fired up. She turned to port, churning the water behind her as she made her best speed away from _Hammersley_.

“Sir?” Mike heard through the roaring in his ears. Charge hovered behind him. “Your orders?”

Buffer and Swain were still on that ship. Mike stared at the waves. The crew were silent behind him.

“Let them get over the horizon, then pursue,” Mike ordered. “Keep them on radar. They can’t outrun us.” He wanted to stop, to sink to his knees, to lie down and sleep and not get up. Nothing mattered now. It was over, there was no point. Except that he was still the captain, and his crew needed him. They’d just lost their XO, after all.

The helmsman was confirming the heading when he was interrupted by Nav’s sharp “_Sir!_”

Mike finally tore his eyes away from the water, startled. “Nav?”

The rest of the crew had turned back to their stations when Mike had given his orders, but Nav was still seated in front of the EOD, fiddling with the playback controls. “Sir, I don’t think she’s dead.”

For a moment Mike didn’t understand. Was she talking about the EOD? Was it not working properly? Then he realised, and in an instant he found himself standing at Nav’s side, staring down at the screen.

“The X,” Nav said. She’d rewound the last few minutes recorded by the EOD and zoomed in. There was Kate, standing on the _Southern Breeze_ . There was Harrison’s goon, his gun raised. “Look, sir.” Nav played the recording back, frame by frame. In slow motion, Kate’s head bent back. The rest of her followed, throwing her off balance, until her feet finally lifted off the deck. Mike’s stomach recoiled, and he was about to look away, but then— the flash. The muzzle flash from the goon’s weapon.

Nav paused the playback. “There,” she said, pointing, but Mike had already seen it. Kate was frozen in midair, bent backwards in a perfect arc, like a diver. A bright flash of light obscured the gun in the drug runner’s hand, which was pointed not at Kate’s head, but the place where Kate’s head had been a second before, which was now only empty air.

“She jumped,” Mike murmured. Charge loomed over Nav’s shoulder, bending down to look.

“She jumped,” Nikki confirmed.

“_Before_ he fired?” RO asked, squeezing past Charge for a better look at the screen, but Mike was already moving.

“She’s still in the water!” he said as he rushed back to the window, raising his binoculars. The drug runners had taken her life vest and tied her hands. He could see nothing but the waves. “Deploy both RHIBs. Start a search.”

The bridge bustled with activity behind him. Nav grabbed another pair of binoculars and stepped out on deck, scanning the churning waters left behind by the rapidly departing _Southern Breeze_. Mike turned and caught Charge’s eye as he rushed to join RO and the rest of the search party. “Find her, Charge.”

Charge nodded, a glint of hope in his eye mirroring the one Mike felt spreading through his own chest. Then he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Kate hit the water head first. As she tumbled, trying to get her bearings, she instinctively tried to use her arms to steady herself. Her wrists caught against the ropes binding them and she felt a moment of claustrophobic panic, but she fought it and forced herself to still. She had a little time before the need to breathe would get critical, and besides, it wouldn’t hurt to stay hidden beneath the waves as long as she could, in case the crew of the _Southern Breeze_ was watching to see if she’d resurface.

After a second or two, she felt calmer, and she could see through salt-stung eyes that it was lighter above her. The weight of her boots must have righted her in the water. She wished she could kick them off; it would make this next part easier. But she hadn’t exactly had time to loosen them as Harrison’s lackey Martin was shoving her around.

She reckoned it had been long enough that no one was watching, and she didn’t want to risk sinking any further. She pointed her bound hands towards the brightest part of the light streaming through the water and kicked and kicked and _kicked_ .

It took just long enough that Kate had really started to worry, but she finally broke through the surface and took a deep, gasping breath. She flailed a bit, once again trying to move her arms to tread water, but they were useless. She finally settled into a sort of bob, frog-kicking with her legs to bring her mouth above the surface just often enough to breathe before sinking again, pushing down on the water in front of her with her arms to keep her balance.

_Kick_, breathe. _Kick_, breathe.

The technique was clumsy, and she wasn’t going to last long. On her next upswing, she kicked extra hard and spun, trying to glimpse the _Southern Breeze_ or, even better, the _Hammersley_. No sign of the smaller boat; they’d probably scarpered the moment she hit the water. But there— just over the waves, she could see _Hammersley_’s mast. Home, sweet home. Now, how to get there?

_Kick_, breathe. _Kick_, breathe.

She’d never make the swim herself, as tempted as she was to try. She was barely keeping her head above water; forward momentum was too much to ask for. She was stuck in nearly the worst possible man-overboard drill. No life vest, no EPIRB or light or whistle, stuck in boots that were beginning to make her feel like her feet had been encased in cement. At least it was daylight, and— best of all— the _Hammersley_ had been stopped when she went in. They wouldn’t have to manoeuvre around to retrieve her. And at least _Hammersley_ was aware the moment she had gone overboard, unlike that time Bomber and Spider had gone over while alone on deck in the middle of the night…

_Kick_, breathe.

Wait. _Did_ her crew realise she was waiting for rescue? Obviously they had been watching as she fell from the _Southern Breeze_ . That had been the point of this whole exercise, for Harrison to demonstrate to the captain that he was serious. But what if they thought she was dead? Kate remembered the booming crack of Martin’s weapon as she threw herself off the ship. It hadn’t really been a well-thought-out plan. She had simply sensed that he was about to fire, more from the hardening look in his eyes than the tensing of the muscles in his forearm. Her instinct to dodge the coming bullet had taken her right over the edge. A split-second of hesitation, and she’d probably be floating facedown right now.

_Kick_, breathe.

But what had that miraculous bit of timing looked like from _Hammersley_? If they assumed she was dead, they’d have to postpone any attempt at body recovery until they’d rescued Buffer and Swain. Who knows how long that would take, and in the meantime, she’d surely run out of energy to keep kicking, and she’d drown. It wasn’t even worth getting worked up about sharks; the boots on her feet and the rope around her wrists would kill her easily enough.

_Kick_, breathe.

But no. Maybe another boat, another crew, another captain. Not Mike Flynn. He wouldn’t leave her behind. Not when there was a chance she was still alive. She just needed to keep her head above water, keep breathing, until they found her.

_Kick_, breathe. _Kick_, breathe. _Kick_, breathe. 


	3. Chapter 3

Charge gripped the back of the seat in front of him with one hand for balance while he scanned the waves off the port side of the RHIB. “Come on, come on, come on,” he muttered under his breath. He wasn't sure he quite believed this theory that Nav and the boss had concocted, that the X had swan-dived off the side of the _Southern Breeze_, dodging the drug runner’s bullets just in time. He’d seen the same footage on the EOD, but it seemed too unlikely a story even for him. People just didn’t get that lucky. But thin as it was, he was willing to cling to this thread of hope until it snapped.

The XO wasn’t dead until they found her body, he decided. Scratch that; she wasn’t dead at all. They’d find her bobbing around, mad as a half-drowned cat, and fish her out of the drink. She’d give them all a good tongue-lashing for taking so long, they’d take her back to the ship, and then they’d catch up with the _ Southern Breeze _ and get their shipmates back. Buffer and Swain would probably have a few choice words to share, as well.

Or they’d find her floating facedown, half her head missing from a bullet wound. Or they’d never find her at all, and the light in Mike Flynn’s eyes would slowly go out, and the bridge of the _ Hammersley _ would be haunted by her absence until the day it was finally decommissioned.

Nah, he liked Nav’s story better. “Come about for another pass, Halfy!” Charge shouted over the wind and engine noise. He wasn’t going to be the one who suggested giving up the search. Not as long as there was a chance.

* * *

Kate heard the engine of the RHIB first. She gave a twist to her next kick, craning her head above the waves to try and get her bearings by the sound alone. There— that direction. Was it getting louder? Another kick, this time harder, to launch her a few more inches above the surface. She could just see them, half-a-dozen heads dark against the bright blue sky, with their hands shading their eyes, scanning the water.

Back down into the waves. Another kick, another breath. It sounded like they’d cut the engine, slowed for a careful look. She just needed to get their attention. With the next kick, she launched herself as far out of the water as she could, waved her bound arms above her head, and shouted with all the breath she had left in her lungs.

As she came back down, she sank lower into the water than she was used to. Her lungs burned as she kicked her way up to the surface. She gave herself a couple of kick-breathe cycles to catch her breath and clear the spots from her eyes. Then she tried again: hard kick, wave, shout. At the peak of her jump she saw one of the figures on the distant RHIB snap its head towards her. Kate thought it might be Bomber, given the colour of the sunlight glinting off her hair. Bomber’s arm came up, pointed directly at her. As she sank back into the waves, Kate mentally filled in the bits that she couldn’t see, the shouted “Red 15! 20 metres!”, Halfy turning the RHIB towards her, the search crew radioing the ship that they’d spotted something in the water.

They’d found her. They’d be on her in just a minute or two. But with that realisation, her muscles went limp with relief and exhaustion. She’d gone deep again after her last hard push out of the water, and by the time she fought back to the surface she barely had time to gasp before her head went under again. She’d lost the rhythm of it. She breathed at the wrong time, swallowed sea water, came up spluttering. She tried to balance herself with her arms, forgetting again that her hands were tied, and found herself tipping onto her side. Instead of fighting it, she tried to relax, to float on her back, but she couldn’t seem to keep her face out of the water. Her reserves gone, she could no longer control the panicky, animal instinct to thrash and fight against her bonds. 

She coughed and heaved and struggled for a brief eternity. Then her motions slowed, her limbs numbed, and her vision darkened, and all she could feel was the sinking cold of the sea.


	4. Chapter 4

Bomber stared at the spot where she’d seen the XO’s blonde head disappear beneath the waves. As the RHIB came about to starboard, she kept her arm pointed directly at the otherwise unremarkable patch of ocean. No one else had seen her, but Bomber was absolutely certain she’d spotted the X waving only a few moments ago.

“I don’t see anything,” Robert said next to her, always ready to provide helpful commentary.

“Have a look, Bomber,” Charge said as they slowed. Bomber nodded, keeping an eye on the place where she’d seen the X as she yanked off her boots and pulled the snorkel mask over her face. Then with a deep breath she dived off the RHIB.

She came out of her shallow dive already swimming. There hadn’t been time for her to put on her dive suit and flippers, but the current was slow and the water chill but not too cold. As she reached her destination, the X still hadn’t resurfaced. Bomber tread water for a moment, spinning a quick 360 but seeing nothing but the worried faces of her shipmates on the RHIB. So she took another breath and duck-dived below the surface.

Nothing in front of or below her but murky, sunlit water. Bomber turned and nearly gasped, startled. The XO was floating upright just a metre or so below the surface, nearly within arm’s reach, eyes closed, a few wisps of drifting hair framing her face. Bomber gave a couple of rapid kicks and soon had her arms around the X, pulling her to the surface. As she settled onto her back, kicking them both towards the excited shouting on the RHIB, Bomber was simultaneously comforted by the lack of any obvious blood or bullet wounds that she could see on the XO, and seriously worried by the limp, boneless weight of the woman in her arms.

Charge must have thought the same. As Bomber felt the RHIB bump into her from behind, she could hear the tension in Charge’s voice.

“Get her in, get her in!” he said, and Bomber felt the X lifted from her grasp. Bomber turned, grabbing the starboard line of the RHIB to steady herself, and watched Charge and RO lay the X on the cramped bottom of the boat.

The XO was pale, her lips tinged blue. Bomber knew this could be a sign of dangerously low oxygen, but it might also just be a result of her time in the cool water. A thick rope was tied around her wrists, and Bomber could see from the swollen, red skin around it that the XO had struggled hard to pull her hands apart. How had she managed to stay afloat so long?

RO tried ineffectually to rearrange the XO more comfortably in the tight space while Charge reached to her neck for a pulse. The seconds seemed to stretch on, and Bomber stared up at Charge from the water, searching his face for any sign of what he was feeling.

“She’s got a pulse but I’m not sure she’s breathing,” he finally said. “Get in, Bomb, we’d better get her back to the ship.” He reached down with one arm and grabbed Bomber by the belt, depositing her on the deck in the non-existent space next to the XO.

Bomber barely registered the speed at which the RHIB shot back towards the ship. As her medical training kicked in, the rest of the world faded. She felt for the XO’s carotid and verified the presence of a steady, though weak, pulse. Thank god. But Charge was right— the X’s chest wasn’t rising, and when Bomber held her ear next to the XO’s mouth and nose, she couldn’t hear or feel any signs of breath. Not that it was easy to tell, with the rushing headwind and chug of the engine.

“What can I do, Bomber?” RO shouted over the noise.

“We need to lay her flat!” Bomber shouted back. “I’ve got to perform rescue breathing!” The X lay curled on her left side, legs splayed where they had landed when Charge and RO hauled her into the RHIB. Charge produced a knife from one of his many pockets and sliced apart the waterlogged ropes binding her wrists. RO helped Bomber turn the XO onto her back, her legs flopped up over the side of the RHIB for lack of anywhere else to put them.

Bomber tilted the XO’s head back and tried very hard to think of her commanding officer as just another CPR manikin. She held the X’s nose closed with one hand, tipped her chin up with the other, and shakily exhaled one breath into the X’s mouth. The X was cold, so cold, and Bomber tasted salt as she lifted her head and counted off the seconds. One-two-three-four-five. She leaned in again for another breath. Slow and steady, make sure you have a good seal. Check for chest rise to make sure the air is going in. Just like her training, which had most certainly _ not _ been conducted on a crowded RHIB racing across the surface of the Arafura Sea, her patient a dying officer whom Bomber wasn’t even sure she liked all that much.

One-two-three-four-five and another breath. Where the hell was Swain? He was the senior medic, Bomber was just a cook, why were all these guys looking to her to save the day here? Oh, that’s right, Swain had been kidnapped by drug runners, at gunpoint, and who knew whether they’d ever see him or Buffer alive again either? Why the hell had she signed up for this, anyway? One-two-three-four-five-breathe, and RO had his hand on the XO’s chest to check for chest rise, so at least Bomber wasn’t the only one who’d paid attention during CPR training. Bomber glanced up at him and he nodded once, and behind him was one of the most beautiful sights she’d ever seen: the great big bulk of the _Hammersley_, towering above them as they came alongside.

One-two-three-four-five and on the next breath, Bomber had some trouble getting the air in. Was the X’s airway blocked? No, she was just trying to exhale as Bomber was trying to force air into her lungs. Before Bomber could react, the XO coughed right into her face from an inch away, but Bomber didn’t even care. “Oh, thank _god_,” Bomber muttered, helping the X roll onto her side to cough up the mucus and sea water in her lungs.

By the time the shipboard crew had lowered the rescue basket to them, the XO had finished coughing up half the Arafura and was breathing at a good pace. She hadn’t fully regained consciousness, had only eyed Bomber groggily before closing her eyes again for what was hopefully a restorative sleep and not a brain-damage-induced coma. Bomber would have to evaluate her carefully once they reached the wardroom. Bomber almost wished _she’d_ been the one to be kidnapped by drug smugglers rather than Swain. The XO would probably wish the same, given the choice between them.

No help for it now. Charge and RO helped Bomber strap the XO securely into the rescue basket and as Charge gave the signal to the hauling team, Bomber finally sat back, stretching the ache out of her neck and looking up into the worried face of their captain, who had eyes only for the XO as the _Hammersley_ crew pulled her back aboard.


	5. Chapter 5

“Sir, we’ve found her,” Charge’s voice crackled over the radio. Mike felt Nav holding her breath behind him as the seconds dragged on. “She’s alive. Returning to the ship.”

Alive. Alive. Alive. And he’d almost left her behind— No time for that. “Copy that,” Mike radioed, then stood from his chair. Nav caught his eye and smiled in relief. Mike found himself grinning in return, even though he knew that “alive” encompassed a lot of unpleasant possibilities for a woman who had been tied up, shot at, and tossed into the sea.

“The moment the search teams are aboard, continue pursuit of the _Southern Breeze_,” Mike ordered. “Navigator, take the ship!” he called over his shoulder as he descended belowdecks.

“I have the ship!” he heard Nikki echo behind him.

He reached the deck in time to watch the RHIB carrying the X sidle up alongside the ship. She wasn’t conscious; he could see that immediately by the way she was sprawled across the deck of the RHIB. Bomber and RO were huddled over her, but they didn’t appear to be performing chest compressions. Alive. Charge glanced up at him and nodded.

Mike stepped back to allow the crew to do their jobs. The XO was wrapped in blankets and deposited on a stretcher, then carried aboard and whisked off to the wardroom by Spider and ET. Mike forced himself to wait on deck, watching calmly and confidently as the RHIB was raised and stowed, until he heard the engines begin to spin and felt the ship slowly move to begin its pursuit of their missing crew members. Only then did he allow himself to turn and head belowdecks towards the wardroom.

Bomber was hovering over Kate when he arrived. His XO was lying on the wardroom table, shivering under two blankets, holding an oxygen mask to her face. But her eyes were bright and alert, and found Mike’s the moment he stepped into the doorway. Bomber followed her gaze and glanced up at him.

“She’s doing all right, sir. I’ve bandaged the rope burns on her wrists—” Only when she gestured did Mike noticed the white gauze wrapped around Kate’s right hand, peeking out from under the blankets to grip the oxygen mask. “Her lungs sound clear but Fleet Medical says she’ll need a full assessment at hospital when we get to port. Near-drownings can cause lung problems, but the oxygen should help for now, and the blankets for hypothermia…”

Mike laid a hand on Bomber’s shoulder. “You’ve done well, Able.”

Bomber shook her head, fiddling with the blankets. “I wish Swain were here.”

“We all do, but I know the X is in capable hands until we get him back.”

Kate set her oxygen mask to the side and reached for Bomber’s hand. “You saved my life, Bomber,” she said in a raspy but strong voice. “Thank you.”

Bomber didn’t quit look convinced, but she nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” She looked back to Mike. “Sir, would you like a moment…?”

Mike gave a nod. “If you’re done here, Bomber. I have a few questions for the X.”

Bomber gathered up the few pieces of rubbish and loose equipment from her work. “I’ll just head to the galley and get lunch started. I’ll be back to check on you in a little while, ma’am.”

Mike barely noticed her leave. He reached for Kate’s hand and she met his gaze just as firmly. A moment ago he had felt filled to bursting with things he wanted to say to her but couldn’t in the presence of a crew member, but now he couldn’t find the words.

As usual, Kate picked up his slack. “I knew you’d find me,” she said. “I did worry for a moment that you might think I’d been shot—”

“I did think you’d been shot.” He replayed it in his mind, couldn’t seem to stop replaying it. “I _ watched _ you get shot. Luckily, Nav replayed the EOD footage and figured out what had happened. I had just given the order to leave you, to pursue Swain and Buffer.”

Kate exhaled slowly. “That couldn’t have been easy. But it would have been the right call.”

Mike shook his head. Not because she was wrong— He knew, on paper, that it was the correct decision. But he couldn’t accept how close he had come to leaving her to die alone.

“Sir,” Kate said. “_Mike,_” and he finally met her gaze again, “It was the right call. But remind me to buy Nikki a drink next time we’re in port.”

He chuckled, snapping himself out of the what-ifs cycling in his head. “We’ve lost track of the _Southern Breeze_, but I have Nav pursuing based on their last known course. Can you give us any idea of where they might be heading? Or what they’re likely to do with Swain and Buffer?”

Kate closed her eyes, bringing the oxygen mask back up to her face for a few breaths. “They had a shipment of cocaine aboard. They’d been on their way to rendezvous with the buyers when we intercepted them.”

Mike nodded; he had assumed as much. This whole mess had started when _Hammersley_ had responded to a early-morning distress call from the couple who owned the _Southern Breeze_ , Linda and Patrick Carmichael. They were being attacked by pirates, they had told Coastwatch. But once _Hammersley_was in range and made radio contact, Linda Carmichael had reported that they’d chased off the pirates, and there was no need for assistance. Mike had been suspicious enough to continue in, but when they caught up with the yacht around dawn, they’d been greeted by Patrick Carmichael, who had waved and insisted again via radio that they didn’t need help.

“When did you realise that he wasn’t Patrick Carmichael?” Mike asked.

“When he couldn’t produce his wife. He said she was shaken up by the attack and wasn’t feeling well, and had gone below to have a lie down. He was tense, nervous, and I wasn’t buying it. Right about then, Swain opened a hatch to find two of Harrison’s henchmen and the cocaine. Another man had got around behind Buffer. They got the drop on us; we should have been more prepared—”

“And I should have sent more than just the three of you to investigate,” Mike cut her off. “Harrison had us all fooled. Go on.”

“Once he saw the game was up, he must have decided that taking hostages was the only way to get away from _Hammersley_. You called right about then—”

“We’d been watching on the EOD. Once Buffer and Swain were brought up on deck by Harrison’s goons, I knew something was wrong.” Harrison had identified himself over the radio and begun making demands immediately.

Kate paused for a moment, thinking, as she breathed again from the oxygen mask. “Harrison must be using stolen yachts to bring his goods in closer to shore.”

Mike agreed. “But by the time he’d boarded the _Southern Breeze_, the Carmichaels had sent their mayday.”

“He must have realised that, and he forced Linda Carmichael to radio us again and tell us not to come.”

“Was there any sign of her or her husband?”

Kate shook her head glumly. “Harrison must put them both overboard before we arrived.”

“Likely with a bullet to the head,” Mike said, but in his mind it was Kate again, her head snapping back, a spray of blood, her limp body hitting the water— but then Kate’s hand, small and cool, was on his arm, and he was back in the wardroom again. He blinked once, twice, and her hand was gone, back under the blankets, but her eyes found and held his gaze.

Mike cleared his throat. “Did they talk about their plans?”

Kate nodded. “We were up on deck the whole time, and Harrison didn’t make any effort to avoid talking in front of us. Likely because he planned on killing us before he reached land. They were going to rendezvous with their buyers at sea, then head for shore to ditch the yacht. I expect they’ll keep Buffer and Swain as insurance against pursuit at least until they meet the buyers.”

“Any idea where the rendezvous is meant to take place?”

At this, Kate smiled behind the mask. “Harrison thinks he’s quite clever. He assumed you’d back off as soon as he took hostages, but just in case, he ordered his men to head in the opposite direction of the rendezvous, to fool you in case you tried to chase after him. Specifically, he told them to head west along the coast, then circle around to the north to meet up with the buyers about three kilometres east of here.”

Mike mirrored her grin. “So we can beat them to the rendezvous by steaming straight for it now.”

“And if you can get a boarding party onto the buyers’ boat before Harrison finishes his little manoeuvre—”

“—We can catch them unawares when they approach to sell the drugs, and have a better chance of getting Swain and Buffer back unharmed.”

Kate’s face fell at the reminder of their shipmates and the danger they were in. Mike placed what he hoped was a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll get them back.”

“It’s not that,” Kate grimaced. “They probably think I’m dead, that Harrison’s man killed me on his orders. I’m just worried what Buffer and Swain’ll do to them before we get there.” 


	6. Chapter 6

“I’ll kill him,” Buffer said again, as he tore at the knots binding his hands. “I’ll bloody kill him.” Swain wasn’t sure whether he meant Harrison, who had given the order to kill their XO, or his lackey Martin, who had pulled the trigger. It didn’t really matter, he supposed. While he had no doubt that Buffer would fight like hell to get them off this yacht and back on _Hammersley_, he knew his friend wasn’t the type of man to seek cold-blooded vengeance. Buffer was just channelling his grief towards a purpose, burning it like petrol to fuel their escape. Swain wished he could enjoy that same single-minded clarity of rage; he couldn’t begin to put words to what he was feeling right now.

Swain had watched a fair number of people die in front of him during his time in the Navy, many of them under his care, although a few were by his own hand. He’d spent his career since his selection for medic training struggling to come to terms with his conflicting roles. He didn’t enjoy taking a life; he didn’t know many sailors who did. But he took pride in his work as a protector of the innocent and helpless, and he had no qualms about fighting to protect his shipmates from harm, when the situation required it. It was somehow worse to watch the life slip away from someone he was _trying_ to save, to know that his efforts, his skills, were not good enough. The faces that occasionally haunted Swain as he drifted off to sleep in his rack were not the people he had killed, but the ones he had let die, the ones he might have saved had he been faster, more resourceful, better trained.

But this? Watching his friend and team leader brutally killed and discarded into the indifferent sea just so some two-bit drug smuggler could make a point? This was nearly unbearable. Swain hadn’t even had the chance to try and save her. She was just there one moment, staring daggers at Martin, and gone the next, swallowed up by the waves.

But no, wait a moment, he _had_ had the chance to save her, hadn’t he? It was too late by the time Martin put the gun to her head; it was even too late when, minutes before that, Martin had pulled her away from where she knelt on the deck with Swain and Buffer. By then, he could admit, there was nothing any of them could do: not Swain, not Buffer, not even the captain, who had surely been watching, helpless, from the bridge of the _Hammersley_ .

But earlier, when they’d first boarded the _Southern Breeze_, Swain might have saved her then. If he’d been more alert, if he’d listened to his instincts. Swain had guessed that Patrick Carmichael was lying; they all had. But he’d suspected domestic trouble, or perhaps insurance fraud. Not four armed men and a hold full of cocaine. Still, he and Buffer and the X might have taken the boat without too much trouble if he had only said something, drawn his weapon sooner, watched Buffer’s back more carefully. Instead, he’d barged into that cabin and fumbled them all into a hostage situation, and if he lived through it, he’d be the one who would have to explain to the captain why Swain had watched as his XO was executed in front of him and done nothing to stop it.

“Snap out of it, mate,” Buffer said, still worrying at the ropes around his wrists. “I know what’s going on in that head of yours, but we haven’t got time for that now.”

“Yeah, all right.” Swain didn’t try to deny it; Buffer knew him too well. Besides, if Kate were here instead of at the bottom of the sea, she’d tell him to focus on the task at hand. There’d be time for guilt later, after they’d brought Harrison and his men to justice, after he got Buffer and himself back to the ship, after he’d given the boss his full report, after he’d reached the shore and kissed his baby girl and climbed into bed with Sal, where she’d wrap her arms around him and ask him what had happened. Then he’d be able to feel it all, but until then, he had a job to do.

He needed a distraction for his spiralling guilt, and fortunately their predicament was just the thing. After Martin had killed the XO, Harrison had ordered them taken below and secured. The cabin held a small galley, an even smaller dinette with a table bolted to the deck and cushioned bench, and a bed that took up the entire aft berth of the cabin, four times as wide as Swain’s rack on _Hammersley_. Harrison’s men had sat them on the deck and re-tied their bound hands around the posts of the table. “What are you thinking, Buff?”

“I doubt Harrison will keep us alive too long after the rendezvous with the buyers,” Buffer said.

“If we try to stage an escape during the sale, we’ll have more hostiles to deal with,” Swain pointed out.

“But we might be able to take advantage of their distraction. Plus, I don’t like our chances of getting out of this cabin before then.”

Swain nodded. The yacht was too small for them to sneak out of the cabin unnoticed, even if the hatch was unlocked. He looked around the stateroom, searching for ideas. “Well, they’re sure to come down here as they’re preparing to meet up with the buyers,” he said, jerking his chin towards the bricks of cocaine piled on the bed.

“Harrison will likely just send one or two of his men to fetch the drugs,” Buffer speculated.

“So we get ourselves free, scrounge some weapons from the galley, and wait for them to come through the hatch.” Swain could feel the knots at his wrists loosening as he picked at them.

“Or…”

Swain looked up, following Buffer’s thoughtful gaze back to the bed. “...or?”

“Or we take the drugs out of the equation.”

Well, it would certainly distract Harrison’s men if they came belowdecks only to find the cocaine had vanished. But… Swain looked around the luxuriously appointed but tiny cabin. “You want to hide them somewhere in here?”

“No,” said Buffer, as he renewed his efforts to free his hands, “I want to dump them in the sea.”

Swain actually laughed. “You want to dump millions of dollars worth of cocaine in the sea.” The ropes finally gave way, and Swain shook his hands to restore blood flow before leaning over to help Buffer with his bonds.

“Well, it won’t hurt the fish, if that’s what you’re worried about. Too diluted.” Buffer yanked the last of the rope away from his wrists, then stood, stretching his legs.

Despite how many years they’d worked side by side, it was still sometimes hard for Swain to know when Buffer was joking. The best approach seemed to be going along with whatever he said until you figured it out. So Swain stood and joined Buffer where he stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the mountain of cocaine that he wanted to tip overboard.

“We would be destroying evidence,” Swain pointed out. But he was starting to picture the look on Harrison’s face when the buyers showed up to discover their drugs were gone.

Buffer just looked at him sidelong. “If Harrison survives this day, he’ll be facing three counts of murder. If destroying this evidence means that I get to live to testify against him for that, I’m all right with him skating on drug running charges.”

Swain thought, not for the first time, that he was glad he hadn’t known Buffer in recruit school. He had the feeling Buff would have talked him into a lot of trouble. “All right, what’s your plan?”


	7. Chapter 7

Buffer had been an angry kid. Looking back, he’d had a great childhood: a loving mum, good mates, teachers looking out for him. But starting around Year 10, he’d just been angry all the time. As an adult, Buff had seen what happened to men who hadn’t learned what to do with all that rage: they’d either turned it inwards, with drugs and drink and midnight games of Russian Roulette, or they’d turned it outwards, towards the people closest to them. But Buffer had benefitted from the adults in this life who saw and recognised his pent-up emotions, and taught him how to handle it. Like his Year 11 footie coach, who’d showed him that using your anger to power your run across the pitch was more productive than pounding on the guy who’d fouled you and getting thrown out. Or the instructor at recruit school who’d pulled him aside and said, “That fire inside you is a useful tool, but if you’re not disciplined, it’ll burn you up,” and showed him how to breathe until his hands stopped shaking.

None of it made the rage go away, but nowadays Buffer knew how to feel it coming on, how to greet it like an old friend and make it serve his purposes. So yeah, there was a part of him that wanted to strangle Martin with his bare hands, wanted to beat Harrison until his own mother wouldn’t recognise him. But that’s not the man Buffer had decided to be, so instead he breathed and let his muscles coil and tense with energy as he sat next to Swain on the deck, ropes draped back over their hands to make it look as though they were still tied up.

The XO had been his shipmate, and his friend, and he would have died for her, but that’s not how it had happened, so instead he was going to try to do the job as well as she would have.   


The hatch rattled as it was unlocked, and moments later the youngest member of Harrison’s crew, Blackie, came clattering down into the cabin. The kid looked barely out of high school, and he held his gun like he’d been watching too many gangster movies. But he’d laughed when Martin had shot the X, so as far as Buffer was concerned, he could rot with the rest of them.

Blackie waved his gun towards Buffer and Swain as he towered over them, clearly enjoying his role. “You lads comfortable down here? Enjoy it while you can—” and he swung a lazy kick towards Swain’s ribs, not appearing bothered when it didn’t connect. Swain didn’t even flinch. Good man. “You won’t be our guests for much longer. Maybe the boss’ll have us toss you over alive, and you can try to swim until your ship catches you up. ‘Course, it didn’t look like your captain was too keen on following us, after Martin killed that b—” Blackie finally turned aft and caught sight of the bed, and his jaw went slack. The bed was empty, the bedspread smooth and unruffled. Swain and Buffer had even remade the bed with Navy-perfect hospital corners.

“What the—” Blackie looked down at Swain and Buffer, who looked back up at him with blank expressions. “Where the— Martin!” He scrambled back up towards the hatch, elbows banging on the bulkheads. Poor trigger discipline on that one. He’d put a bullet through his own foot one day unless he learned to calm down.

Buffer and Swain only had a moment to exchange glances between Blackie was back, Martin grumbling down the ladder behind him. Buffer’s hands clenched involuntarily around the ropes, and he breathed, one-two-three-in, one-two-three-four-out, until they relaxed.

Martin didn’t even spare a glance at his captives, just hissed at Blackie, “What the fuck are you on about? The buyers will be here any minute, I told you to bring the stuff up on deck.” He looked at the bed and froze, stone-faced. Then he pulled the handgun from his waistband and turned, pointing it at Buffer’s face.

“Where is it?” he asked. Buffer felt Swain tense next to him, but Buffer just looked Martin dead in the eye.

“You kill us, and you’ll never find it,” he said. Martin looked at him appraisingly, then swung the pistol towards Swain.

“I don’t need to kill you,” Martin said. “I just need to hurt you a little.”

Swain shrugged. “Yeah, that would probably work eventually. But it doesn’t sound like you have a lot of time.” Blackie glanced up towards the hatch, where they could all hear Harrison shouting a greeting to an approaching boat.

“One of you is going to have to tell your boss that you can’t find the drugs,” Buffer said. “What do you think he’ll do, Martin? What do you think your buyers will do?”   


“Probably best if you just blame it on the kid,” Swain suggested, and Blackie stiffened. “Harrison might buy that, he does look pretty dumb.”

“Martin—” Blackie was almost whining.

“Search the room,” Martin said, and they began tearing the place apart. They ripped the bedspread off the bed, yanked open every cabinet door, slammed open the door to the head. Finally Blackie, increasingly desperate, flipped the mattress off the bed, revealing the flattened and empty wrappers that Swain had stashed under there.

Martin gaped, turned back towards them. “What did you do?!”

“We flushed it, mate,” Buffer said, nearly enjoying himself. “Well, some of it went down the sink, but mostly we flushed it.”

If Martin had still been thinking rationally, he would have realised that Buffer and Swain had gotten out of their bonds, but the idea of losing out on his cut of a multi-million dollar cocaine sale had sent him over the edge, and he threw himself at Buffer, grabbing him around the throat with one hand while raising his gun with the other.   


Buffer swept his hands up, grabbing the gun on either side and twisting as he pushed it to the side. The shot went wide, firing into the bulkhead and deafening Buffer in his left ear, but he felt the bones in Martin’s wrist snap even though he couldn’t hear them. Martin’s face contorted into what Buffer assumed was a pained, angry shout, and the gun slipped out of his grip.

Next to him, Swain laid flat to get out of the line of fire and kicked his legs at Blackie’s feet as the young man rushed forward to help. Blackie toppled over, arms flailing, gun spinning free into the air, and Swain caught him by the neck with the rope that had been tying his hands. By the time Blackie slid the deck, face purpling, Buffer had caught Martin with a right hook and grabbed the gun out from under him as he collapsed in a heap.   


Swain unwound the rope from Blackie’s neck, checking his pulse as he secured his dropped weapon, then glanced up a Buffer and nodded. “All right, Buff?” His voice was muffled by the ringing echo of the gunshot in Buffer’s ear.

Buffer pulled himself to his feet, breathing hard despite the quickness of the fight. He looked down at the unconscious men on the deck, fingers tightening on the grip of the pistol he’d taken from Martin. It would be so easy… It would ensure that he and Swain weren’t attacked from behind… But that wasn’t the man he had chosen to be.   


He checked the gun’s magazine, popped it back in, then nodded at Swain. “They’ll have heard that shot up on deck. Let’s go.”


	8. Chapter 8

Spider tried to look nonchalant as he leaned against the forward rail of the small cruiser they’d boarded less than an hour earlier. What would a drug trafficker be doing as his boat approached a rendezvous with a supplier? Probably not tugging the sleeves of his jacket down quite so much, but none of the men the _Hammersley_ now had in custody had been wearing Spider’s size.

The buyers had tried to make a run for it when they’d spotted _Hammersley_ approaching, but they soon realised they were surrounded as the warship and its two RHIBs formed a tight circle around them. The four men on board surrendered quickly, and looked pleased with their luck when they discovered that the Australian Navy wasn’t as interested in prosecuting them for moving cocaine as they were in arresting Harrison and his crew for murder, attempted murder, kidnapping, and piracy. The buyers had offered up their boat, their plans for the rendezvous, and the clothes off their back in exchange for a good word to the AFP when they got back to shore. Captain Flynn had dispatched Spider, Charge, ET, and RO to pose as the buyers, then left to position _Hammersley_ over the horizon from the rendezvous site.

Spider tugged at his sleeves again as he remembered the look on the captain’s face for those few minutes they’d all thought the XO was dead. He’d looked hollowed out inside, and sort of confused at the same time. Spider could empathise. It’s not like he didn’t realise that being a sailor was a dangerous job. He’d learned that firsthand when he watched Jaffa die not long after his own posting to _Hammersley_ . But that had been an accident, a deadly but random encounter with Australia’s notoriously dangerous sea life, not cold-blooded murder. And Jaffa had been his mate, still fresh out of training, not much older than Spider himself. The XO was… well, she was an officer. Sure, she was small, and a woman (not that he’d ever let her or Nav or Bomber hear him mention that), and she’d gotten seasick on her first boarding on _Hammersley_ , but she had always seemed completely unflappable and, like... untouchable. Honestly, Spider had been a bit terrified of her since they’d met. To see her shot dead and swallowed up by the sea? It was as unthinkable as the idea of the captain being killed, or, even more preposterous— _Buffer_ being killed.

In the end they’d found her alive, and Spider had felt the deck steady under his feet, but the whole thing had made him realise how naïve he had been. This _was_a dangerous job, and not just for junior sailors. Just because the officers and senior sailors seemed impossibly competent to him didn’t mean they weren’t vulnerable, that they couldn’t be hurt. His job was to make sure he looked out for them as well as they looked out for him. He never wanted to lose another shipmate.

“You all right there, Spider?” ET asked, leaning against the railing next to Spider with the kind of casual indifference the Spider could only dream of. “You’re looking a little twitchy.”

“I’m ready,” Spider said, gripping the rail to avoid reaching for his sleeve again.

ET laughed. “I’m sure you are, mate, but that’s not what I asked.”

“There she is!” Charge called from inside the wheelhouse. “Look alive, boys.” He pointed dead ahead, then picked up the radio mic as ET and Spider squinted against the late afternoon sun to make out the _Southern Breeze_ approaching. “The snappers are biting today,” Charge said into the radio, using the prearranged code provided by the buyers.

There was a pause, and Spider held his breath as ET tensed beside him. “We were hoping for some mackerel,” a voice said from the tinny speakers. Spider could just make out a figure standing on the bow of the _, and another at the wheel._

__

“Come on in, then,” Charge replied. “Plenty to go around.” This was the all-clear signal, and the _ Southern Breeze _ increased speed to close the distance between them.

__

RO followed Charge out of the wheelhouse to join them on deck. “All right, here’s the plan,” Charge said. “RO and I will board the _Southern Breeze_ and play along with the drug sale until we can get Harrison and all three of his men in sight. They’re probably holding Buffer and Swain below, so as soon as we know they’re unguarded, I’ll give the signal, ET and Spider jump aboard, we identify ourselves, and take the ship. Anyone who gets the chance, get below to set our boys loose. I’m sure they’ll be happy to join the fight. Any questions?”

__

RO, Spider, and ET shook their heads. “I can see two men on deck,” ET said, nodding towards the approaching yacht.

__

“The one at the bow is Harrison,” said RO. Spider squinted. Yes, there was Harrison, waving from the bow, while the other man steered the boat towards them. Two more figures came around from the starboard side to join Harrison. One of them was Martin, the man who had tried to kill the X. ET made a sound low in his throat.

__

“Steady, now,” Charge said, placing a hand on ET shoulder.

__

“That’s three and four,” RO said, looking at Charge. “That’s all of them, according to the X.” But Harrison gestured towards the cabin door on the port side, and Martin and another man turned to head below.

__

“He must be sending them to get the drugs,” ET said. “They’ve probably got them stashed below.”

__

“Same place we’re assuming they’re keeping Buffer and Swaino.” Charge sighed. “All right, we’ll play it cool until they come back up. We don’t want them trying to use the hostages against us.”

__

“And if I know Buffer and Swain, the more time they have without Harrison’s men watching them, the more likely they’ll come up with a way to rescue themselves,” ET grinned.

__

“We’d better get in there, then,” Charge said, raising a hand to wave back to Harrison, who was almost within earshot. “Can’t let them have all the fun.”

__

Harrison kept one hand resting lightly on the pistol in his waistband as the _Southern Breeze_ came alongside, and didn’t move it even as Charge tossed him a line and they secured the boats. Charge and RO hopped across and stood at a politely careful distance in front of Harrison, keeping their hands relaxed.

__

“Haven’t seen you before,” Harrison said, his eyes shifting from Charge and RO to Spider and ET and back.

__

Charge shrugged, then fed him the line provided by the captured drug traffickers. “Georgie had us over in Darwin, but we were getting a little too recognisable, so he brought us out here for a bit. I can’t complain, I’ve been hoping to get out of the city for a while, breathe some fresh sea air.”

__

Harrison glanced between them once more, then shrugged in return, dropping his hand deliberately from the handle of his pistol. “It’s a beautiful day to make some money.”

__

“That’s the spirit,” Charge said. “Let’s take a look at the product.”

__

“I’ve just sent my men for it. Let’s see the cash.”

__

“Yeah, all right, then.” Charge turned towards Spider and ET, still on the buyers’ boat. “Why don’t you two go get the—” But before Spider could hear how Charge planned to stall Harrison until his men returned from below, the muffled but distinct sound of a gunshot rang out from somewhere within the _Southern Breeze_.

__

Charge was moving before the shot finished echoing, tackling Harrison, who recovered quickly and squirmed out from under him. RO ducked under a flailing arm as they wrestled on deck, drawing his weapon from under his shirt and aiming it at the man at the wheel. “Australian Navy!” RO shouted. “Do not move!”

__

ET grabbed Spider by his jacket and hauled him onto the _Southern Breeze_, where he released Spider and dove to help Charge subdue Harrison. Spider glanced at RO. The other drug runner seemed to be cooperating, hands raised in the air. Spider was free to find Buffer and Swain.

__

He drew his Browning as his crept along the port side towards the cabin door. He’d only heard one shot. Surely they weren’t killing the hostages _now_ ? Maybe Buffer and Swain had gotten the drop on them. He’d have to be careful. He might be walking into a gunfight, and he didn’t want to accidentally hit Buffer or Swain in the crossfire. He’d better—

__

An arm caught Spider in face and he stumbled, spluttering, as a pair of hands grasped around his pistol and twisted. He kept his grip on the weapon like Buffer had taught him, but suddenly his feet went out from under him and he was flat on his back, gun pointed up towards his attacker.

__

“You kept your weapon this time, Spider, nice one,” Swain grinned down at him. Spider immediately dropped his aim, trying not to gape as he processed the last few seconds. Swain offered him a hand to stand up.

__

“Didn’t manage to stay upright,” Buffer muttered. He had his own weapon raised, pointed back towards the bow where Charge and ET had gotten Harrison under control.

__

“We heard a shot—” Spider said, still trying to work out what had just happened.

__

“Yeah, we got tired of waiting to be rescued,” Buffer growled. “You want a job done right…”

__

“Two of Harrison’s men are unconscious below,” Swain said as they joined Charge, ET, and RO, who had restrained their captives face-down on the deck, hands restrained behind them. “They’re alive, Martin’s shot went into the bulkhead.” Buffer still hadn’t taken his eyes or his gun off Harrison, who glared up at them.

__

Charge carefully stepped between them, forcing Buffer to lower his weapon. “Sounds like your mate Martin has shoddy aim,” Charge said, squatting down to speak to Harrison. “Can’t even shoot his own hostages when they’re standing two metres in front of him.”

__

Swain glanced up at Spider, then ET, who grinned. “Yeah, she’s alive,” ET said. “Not a scratch on her.”

__

Buffer leaned over, hands on his knees, exhaling slowly. Charge stood and turned towards them, Harrison ignored for the moment. He patted Buffer gently on the back, grasped Swain’s shoulder, then moved towards the wheelhouse. “Spider, ET, go below and secure the prisoners. RO, radio _Hammersley_ and let them know we’ve taken the ship and recovered our shipmates. Buff, Swaino, I know you’ve had an exhausting day of sitting around being hostages, but maybe you’d like to secure the drugs to turn over to the AFP.”

__

As Spider headed back towards the cabin, ET behind him, he heard Swain laugh. “Yeah, about that…”

__


	9. Chapter 9

“Nav, what’s our ETA to port?” Mike asked, trying to stretch a kink out of his neck without being too obvious with his fidgeting.

“About… five hours, sir,” Nikki replied from her station.

“All right, I’m going to check on our wayward shipmates on my way to my quarters. Wake me in four hours if you haven’t seen me.” He stood, shifting his weight surreptitiously to try to loosen his stiff legs. “You have the ship.”

“Navigator has the ship,” Nav said, moving towards the centre chair. She’d been on duty, just winding down the midnight watch, when the mayday had come in from the Carmichaels early that morning, and had been at Mike’s side for this whole ideal, but she looked as alert and clear-eyed as if she had just woken from a good night’s sleep. Ah, the benefits of youth.

“Oh, and Nav…” Mike paused on his way off the bridge and she turned towards him expectantly.

“Yes, sir?”

“Good work earlier. This day could have ended a lot differently. If you hadn’t spotted the XO dodging that bullet on the EOD…” He would have left her. Kate would be dead, and they probably wouldn’t have gotten to Buffer and Swain in time. Today could easily have been the worst day of his career. “Your keen observation skills likely saved us all a lot of heartache.”

Nav smiled at him, obviously pleased. “Thank you, sir. Just doing my job.”

“And you do it well.” Mike nodded at her and headed below. He smelled dinner cooking as he passed the galley and his stomach growled. Mike wasn’t normally the sort to forget to eat; he’d noticed in ADFA that his classmates who skipped meals or pulled all-nighters to study ended up in worse shape than if they’d just taken the twenty minutes to see to their physical needs. But he hadn’t been able to even look at the sandwiches that Bomber had brought up to the bridge at midday. The image of Kate slipping beneath the waves had turned his stomach, even after they had her back on the ship. Now that the unrealised horrors of the day were wearing off, his hunger was reasserting itself. He’d have Bomber fix him a plate to take back to his quarters after he checked in on his XO.

Buffer was stepping out of the wardroom as Mike came down the passageway. Mike stepped to the right to allow him to pass, but Buffer paused in front of his captain, drawing himself almost to attention.

“Buffer.”

“Sir.”

Mike eyed his inscrutable bosun. “Checking in on the X?”

“Yes, sir. Swain’s with her now.”

“Ah.” Mike wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Kate had had a lot of visitors in the last couple of hours. He’d noticed that whenever one of his sailors was injured on a mission, the rest of the crew couldn’t resist “casually” dropping by the wardroom to see them, as if needing to prove to themselves that their shipmate was alive and back home on the _Hammersley_.

“Sir—” Buffer’s expression was a mask of formality, but he couldn’t quite meet Mike’s eyes. The man was clearly struggling with something. He couldn’t be blaming himself for all of this, could he? Mike had already been planning a quiet talk with Swain, who was the type to occasionally overindulge in self-blame after a misadventure like this one, but Buffer’s approach was usually to focus on using the experience to hone the skills of the crew to prevent repeating their mistakes on the next mission.

On the other hand, this had been a worse day than most, despite the good outcome for the crew. And Mike hadn’t actually stopped to consider how the day had gone from Buffer’s and Swain’s perspective. For Mike, Kate had been dead for minutes, then missing for less than an hour before Charge had pulled her onto the RHIB. For Buffer, who had been five metres away when Martin had pulled that trigger instead of two hundred, Kate had been dead for hours.

“Buffer, this wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have—” Mike began, but then stopped. This is the approach he’d use on Swain, but it didn’t feel like the right move with Buffer.

“Yes, sir.” Finally, Buffer met his eye. “Regardless, it won’t happen again.”

Mike held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. “See that it doesn’t.” He clapped Buffer on the shoulder to ease the tension as he moved past him. “Glad to have you back in one piece, Buffer. Go get some dinner before Bomber closes the galley.”

“Aye, sir.”

Swain was, as Mike had expected, sitting at Kate’s bedside in the wardroom. This time, however, Kate was sitting upright, blankets shoved aside. Swain had obviously just been checking her vitals; the blood pressure cuff was still wrapped around her arm. But he held his stethoscope folded in one hand, and Mike could hear Kate murmuring to him as he approached the doorway. Mike shuffled his feet enough to warn them both of his approach and Kate caught his eye as he entered. He’d guessed right; they’d been having a private conversation, Kate probably attempting to assuage Swain’s guilt, and he’d given Swain enough time to pull himself together before he turned to face his commanding officer.

“What’s the prognosis, Swain?” Kate rolled her eyes, prompting a laugh from Swain as he removed the BP cuff and tucked it away.

“Bomber did an excellent job, sir,” Swain said. “The oxygen and rewarming have brought her vitals back in to normal range. And her lung sounds are clear. But I’d like to get her to hospital when we reach port to rule out the sort of lung infections that are sometimes seen in near-drownings, and Fleet Medical agrees.”

Mike could see Kate drawing in a breath to say, “I’m _fine_,” and preemptively cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Well, who are we to argue with you and Fleet Medical? Nav says we’ll reach port in about five hours. Why don’t you go grab a plate from Bomber. I’ll keep an eye on our patient in the meantime.”

Swain was already edging towards the door, fully aware that the captain was intentionally winding up the XO. “Yes, sir. I’d like you to stay here tonight, ma’am. Bomber or I will be in to check your vitals every two hours.” With that, he disappeared into the passageway before Kate could protest.

Not that that stopped her from protesting to Mike. “I don’t need to go to hospital.”

Mike sank into the chair that Swain had just vacated. “Consider it a personal favour. And if that doesn’t work, consider it an order.”

Kate sighed, reclining back onto the table and propping her head in one hand. “Swain’s just being overprotective.”

“Well, he watched you shot dead earlier today. Maybe he just wants a physician to confirm he’s not imagining your good health.”

She smiled at him, their I-don’t-want-to-go-to-hospital ritual complete. Mike fiddled with the stethoscope that Swain had left behind to keep himself from reaching out to touch her. Swain and Buffer weren’t the only ones who needed reassurance.

Kate’s hands mirrored his own, toying with her blankets. “He feels guilty.”

“He’s not the only one.”

She looked at him sharply.

“I ran into Buffer earlier,” Mike said, but he could tell she wasn’t fooled.

“He stopped by to see me. I think we can expect a new set of boarding drills soon. And Swain’s probably going to be glued to my side for the next few boardings.”

“Everyone processes trauma in their own way.” Mike decided to set the stethoscope down before he pulled it completely to pieces.

“Sir,” she said, and now it was Mike that couldn’t meet her gaze. She rested a warm hand on his arm and he gave in, the ship and the sea and the rest of the world dropping away as he stared into her piercing, stubborn, undeniably alive eyes. “I’m here, I’m fine. Swain, Buffer, we’re all okay.”

Mike took a shaky breath, the weight of the day finally catching up to him now that he was out of sight of the crew. “You almost weren’t. If you hadn’t jumped… If Nav hadn’t seen it on the EOD…”

“But I did, and she did. And the search party found me before I went under. And Bomber kept me breathing. And Charge and his boarding party took Harrison’s ship. Hell, Swain and Buffer rescued themselves. We kept each other alive, Mike. Because that’s what the Navy taught us to do. That’s what _you_ taught us to do. When I was out there, swimming, trying to keep my head above the water...” She shivered. “I can’t say I enjoyed the experience, but I never felt alone. I knew from the moment I jumped that you would come to get me.”

On some days, the bad days, Mike felt like he had started his life in the Navy with a finite amount of luck, and that every close call that his ship experienced chipped away at it, like waves against an eroding beach. He felt— he _knew_— that he was just biding his time until it ran out. On other days, the good days, he recognised that all he could do was enjoy the ride while it lasted, cling to the life and the crew that he loved until the sea or the Navy took it all away.

He placed his hand over Kate’s on his arm. Today was a good day.


End file.
